


Between Butter and Boys

by druscilla



Category: Fall Out Boy
Genre: Angry Sex, Getting Together, M/M, Pre-Hiatus (Fall Out Boy)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-28
Updated: 2016-03-28
Packaged: 2018-05-29 17:44:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,286
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6386041
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/druscilla/pseuds/druscilla
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Patrick eats four sticks of butter.  Pete falls asleep with his shoes on.  Sometime after, they fight it out in their own weird way.</p><p>Based on a dialogue prompt.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Between Butter and Boys

Pete had to go to some family thing that day and his mom had picked up at at 10:30 in the morning so he’d missed the whole thing. The house was empty when he got back around eight, except for Patrick who was–presumably, still–throwing up in the trash can next to his bed.

Pete asked what was wrong from the doorway. Piss he didn’t mind, but vomit better stay the fuck away from him. Patrick muttered something and the older boy cocked his head to the side, not quite sure if he’d heard that right.

“What do you mean you ate all the butter?”

Patrick gave a dumb sort of smile from where he was sitting on the edge of his bed and set the trash can back down, reaching for the glass of water on his nightstand swallowing greedily. "I won though,“ he said proudly, pointing to what looked like twenty five dollars worth of crumpled bills and a container of orange Tic Tacs.

“How much butter?” Pete asked, still lurking in the doorway.

“Four sticks,” Patrick said with a shrug. He reached for the trash can again and Pete disappeared into his room to drown out the sound with his headphones.

He fell asleep despite it not yet being fully dark outside. He woke up a few hours later to Patrick tugging his shoes off. The younger boy smelled like he’d showered, a very foreign smell in Pete’s room with three separate piles of dirty clothes. Pete squinted his eyes open. Yes, Patrick had definitely showered.

The younger boy pushed him over in the bed when he saw the boy look at him, lying next to him on the mattress and staring up at the ceiling. "So how was it?“

"Dumb,” Pete said immediately. "And my mom made me change.“

"Told you,” Patrick said laughing. And he had, the night before. _‘I’m pretty sure when your mom says ‘dress appropriately’ she is specifically saying not to wear your rainbow belt and Misfits shirts.’_

“You ate four sticks of butter for twenty bucks. Excuse me if I don’t take life advice from you.”

“Twenty six dollars!” the younger protested, but he laughed again. "Show tomorrow,“ he said unnecessarily. So unnecessarily, that Pete flipped over to his side and poked Patrick in the arm with his finger.

"Dude, what’s up?”

Patrick didn’t say anything, just continued to stare at the ceiling while Pete’s finger incessantly prodded him. It wasn’t until Pete’s fingers twisted and pinched his arm hard enough to tear the top layer of skin that he reacted at all. "Dude, fuck you!“ he snapped, flipping to _his_ side and punching Pete in the chest, hard.

Tattooed arms came up to shove back, their legs tangling together even as they continued to push at each other. Pete’s mouth found Patrick’s and there might have been too much teeth to consider it a kiss, but that was a moan low in the back of Patrick’s throat before it turned into a growl.

"I can make you tell me,” Pete threatened, still shoving at Patrick with one hand while the other slid down to grab him through his basketball shorts

“You couldn’t get a _salesman_ to _sell_ you something,” Patrick spat back, leaning in to bite the vein sticking out of the older boy’s neck. Pete swore, but didn’t pull away and Patrick smiled against his skin. He bit harder when Pete’s hand slipped under his waistband, fingers wrapping around his length at that awkward angle Patrick still hadn’t quite mastered yet.

“You’re gonna tell me though,” Pete growled. He wasn’t able to see Patrick’s eyes roll but he didn’t need to.

“I’m _so_ convinced,” the younger returned dryly, finally releasing his teeth from Pete’s neck and smiling at the little marks staring back at him. "Maybe if you were better at it.“

Pete made a noise of indignation, not unlike a cat, his thumb twisting to run across the tip of Patrick’s cock, smearing the precome across the head and earning a noise that sounded suspiciously like a stifled gasp. Then Pete’s hand was gone, reaching lower to dig angry nails in the flesh of Patrick’s thigh.

It happened too quickly for the younger boy to bite back his yelp and his body instinctively tried to pull back, but Pete’s hand was in hair and there was no escape. He brought hands up to dig his own nails in Pete’s arms, but he knew it was fruitless. Pete actually _liked_ it, all the pain stuff.

The older boy’s nails released but only to start teasing Patrick’s cock, fingertips barely grazing up and down the length, just enough to make the younger boy’s nails turn to palms as he gripped Pete’s arm, the smallest breathy gasp slipping past his lips. "You could just tell me.”

Patrick’s eyes closed and he shook his head. "Not on your life, Wentz,“ but his heart wasn’t in it. He fell forward, his face pressed to the older boy’s shoulder.

It was too much, almost. Pete felt it in his stomach in a way that was so different from the angry handjobs and two a.m. makeout sessions. He didn’t want to dig his nails into Patrick anymore, didn’t want to bit him again. He wanted to feel soft moans against his skin and legs twisted in his when he fell asleep. 

Patrick was shaking ever so slightly as Pete’s hand wrapped around him more slidly. An arm came up around him, holding him place but without the sting of too-tight fingers in his hair. He whimpered. He was close. He was always close, but especially when it was Pete.

The older boy’s hand twisted suddenly and Patrick cried out, pushing his face harder into the boy’s shoulder, squeezing his arm tighter. He bit his lip when came, but the sounds were audible, high-pitched in the back of his throat. Pete held him tighter and kissed his temple and Patrick whispered his name.

It should have been awkward after. Pete wiped his hand on a dirty shirt next to his bed and Patrick had a stain on the front of his shorts. They were both breathless and Pete was hard, but neither one of them had intentions to do anything about it. Patrick went to lay on his back, but Pete pressed against him before he could, arms wrapping around him from behind as his breath ghosted across the boy’s neck. Patrick could feel Pete’s heartbeat against his back.

"You can still tell me,” Pete mumbled into Patrick’s hair.

The younger boy took a ragged breath and moved to shake his head but the words came instead. "I sucked so bad last week.“

Pete laughed. "Dude, are you still beating yourself up over that riff? Seriously, Joe is the only one who noticed it. I didn’t until you were fucking crying about it afterward.”

“I was _not_ crying.”

“Fucking pouting then.”

“I hate you.”

“That’s just the butter talking,” Pete said gleefully, pressing his lips to Patrick’s shoulder through his tee shirt. "Cut yourself a break. They all love you. But not as much as me,“ he added.

It should have been awkward, too, that joke, that word, when they both knew they were feeling the beginning of it, or something like it. But it wasn’t and Patrick fell asleep with Pete’s warm arms wrapped around him and open-mouthed breathing in his ear. 

They woke up in the morning to find a condom taped to Pete’s door with a Post-It note in Joe’s handwriting that read _‘Mazel Tov PS we need more butter’_. Pete laughed while Patrick slipped the condom in his pocket. Those things weren’t cheap, after all.


End file.
